


Sound Off

by sabinelagrande



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Backstory, F/M, Misunderstandings, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-14
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-03-12 08:55:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3350786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sabinelagrande/pseuds/sabinelagrande
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Melinda said, taking another sip of her whisky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sound Off

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to kalakirya, for excellent twitter conversations. <3

It didn't seem like an event; everybody was watching a movie, some new thing that Phil didn't really care about. He and Melinda were in his office instead, having a drink and talking. It could have been just another night, just faded into obscurity like so many others.

That's not what happened.

"Show me yours, and I'll show you mine," Melinda said, taking another sip of her whisky.

It was something of a surprise; Phil knew what she meant, but she'd never asked before. "It's right here," Phil said, pointing at the mark on his bicep.

"Smartass," Melinda said, though it sounded affectionate.

"In fairness, I can see yours too," Phil said. He saw it all the time, as a matter of fact; Melinda's mark sat just below her collarbone, and it often peeked out from the neckline of her shirts. "Besides, don't you know it's bad luck?"

Melinda raised an eyebrow. "It's 'bad luck' so people won't use it to trick each other into bed."

"Fair enough," Phil said, because she was completely right.

For most of human history, people hadn't known what the marks were, the ones that appeared on most people's skin at birth. It was generally accepted that if you had a mark, you'd find the one person you were meant for some day. You'd definitely know it when you got there- Phil's mother always said the first time she'd kissed his father felt like plugging in a damaged power cord, which had admittedly scared Phil as a child.

It was only very recently, in the grand scheme of things, that it was discovered that they represented sounds.

Usually it was just one word, maybe a phrase, though Phil knew a girl once with a paragraph-long rant going around her thigh. Since the discovery, of course, billions of dollars had been poured into perfecting the science of reading the markings; now you could walk into any analyst and have it read as easy as a barcode.

The hard part, the emotional part, that part people still fought bitterly over, wrote books and books rehashing the same arguments about what destiny was, whether love really existed. Everybody knew anyway: it was what your partner said the moment you realized you were in love.

So yeah. Telling people what the hugely important thing on your skin said was a recipe for getting your pants talked off. Sometimes taboos existed for a reason.

"Are you going to tell me?" Melinda asked.

Phil sighed; it was more embarrassment than anything else that kept him from telling people, but this was Melinda. She probably knew more about the stupid shit he'd done than anybody else. And besides, they'd known each other thirty years. If she were going to talk his pants off, she'd have done it by now.

"It just says, 'Hello,'" he said. "All that tells me is that I am exactly as hopeless of a romantic as I secretly fear that I am. Of course, Audrey's said, 'Pass the ketchup,' so I guess it could be worse."

"Andrew didn't have one," Melinda said. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Don't give me that look."

"I didn't say anything," he said, though he knew that his face probably said it all.

"People without marks are the lucky ones," Melinda told him. "If you knew there was no one out there who was better for you than anybody else you might fall in love with, you wouldn't have to worry about missing them. You wouldn't have to worry about driving them away. You wouldn't have to worry about losing them. Don't you think that's better?"

It sounded kind of sad to Phil, honestly, but it also sounded like Melinda. "I'm the one with the mark from a romance novel," Phil said. "Of course I don't think so." Melinda snorted. "So what does yours say?"

Melinda shrugged. "I've had it read, but it doesn't say anything."

"What do you mean?" Phil asked, frowning.

"It's not a word," she said. "It's just a noise."

"What kind of a noise?" he said, intrigued.

"A groan," she told him, shrugging.

"That's not very helpful," Phil said.

"Tell me about it," Melinda replied. "My luck, it's from when I was fucking or fighting somebody, or-" She stopped dead, the color draining from her face.

"What?" Phil asked. "What's wrong?"

Melinda stood up; Phil could tell she was trying to be calm, but her hands were shaking, which was of course terrifying. "I can't be here right now," she said.

"Melinda-" Phil started.

"Don't try to talk to me," she said quickly. "I need- just don't talk. I'll find you when I need you."

Phil didn't like the sound of that at all, but he nodded anyway. To her credit, Melinda didn't run from him, but she left in a hurry and didn't look back.

And Phil was left sitting there wondering what the fuck just happened.

He didn't see her again for the rest of the night; she seemed fine the next morning, but Phil knew that meant nothing. Melinda could compartmentalize with the best of them. No matter what had gone wrong, she'd keep it together.

She made herself scarce once they were done for the day, but that didn't surprise him. It didn't seem fair to go looking, not when she'd asked him to stay away. He certainly didn't _like_ doing it, would much rather have tracked her down and demanded an answer, but it was what it was.

Phil spent most of the evening in his room, reading, and he was just thinking about getting ready for bed when there was a knock on his door.

"Can I come in?" Melinda said, when he answered it.

"Of course," Phil said, waving her in and shutting the door behind her. She looked out of sorts, edgy, tired, and Phil didn't like it. "What's on your mind?"

"I'm sorry for yesterday," Melinda said. "I-" She stalled out.

"It's no big deal," Phil said. "I'm sure you had a reason. You don't need to explain."

Melinda sighed heavily. "I think I do."

Phil knew other people thought Melinda was unsettling when she stared silently, but seeing her obviously floundering was what really scared him. "What's wrong?"

"Do you remember that time in Rio?" Melinda asked, which felt like a non sequitur.

"Yeah," Phil said, frowning. They'd been to Rio several times, but only one of them was That Time In Rio.

"You managed to get yourself shot _inside_ the fucking chopper on the way out," she said, sounding as annoyed about it as she always did.

"That is the definition of not my fault," Phil argued.

"You were lying on the floor bleeding, and I couldn't get away from the controls," Melinda said. That part she'd never mentioned before; the story always stopped at Phil getting shot and picked up later in the hospital. "I had to listen to Morris working on you, and I was sure you were going to die." She looked him dead in the eye, and there was so much there that Phil felt a little overwhelmed. "I didn't want you to."

"Oh," Phil said, unable to find anything else to say; suddenly so many things made so much more sense. It was a hell of a lot to take in at once, but he knew Melinda wasn't inclined towards waiting around for an answer.

He knew what the answer was. He just hadn't known what question it went to.

"We were at the academy," Phil said. "It was the second day of training, and I came up and said hi." Now it was his turn for the story that got left out. "You said hello, and I was too afraid to ask if you remembered my name."

"I didn't," Melinda said.

"I know," Phil replied.

"This doesn't have to mean anything," Melinda said stoically, but she sounded like she was lying. "If the only reason you'd be interested in pursuing something is because of a birthmark-" She let it hang there, but Phil knew very well what she meant.

"When I drove you away from Providence, I promised myself that no matter what I did, I would never do anything to make you leave again," Phil told her. "I'll do whatever it takes to keep you by my side, mark or no mark. I care about-" He made himself stop and admit the truth. "I love you far too much to let you go." He smirked. "Besides-"

"I swear to _god_ , Coulson," Melinda said, though her voice was rough, uneven, "if the next words out of your mouth are, 'You had me at hello-'"

"Are you always going to ruin all my fun?" Phil asked.

Melinda swallowed. "Stick around and find out," she said; it might have been phrased like a joke, but it was nothing of the sort.

"I think I just might," Phil said. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, and for a moment she just rested her head against his shoulder. And Phil almost left it there, so afraid that it was all going to turn out to be a mistake after they'd come so far- but after all, they _had_ come so far, so he sort of had to. He pulled back slightly, just enough so that he could bend down; she didn't stop him, leaning up to meet him instead. The jolt he felt when their lips met was unfamiliar, but he instantly knew it for what it was.

"Did you feel that?" Phil said, when they parted.

"Yeah," Melinda said, and Phil suddenly felt like he was full to bursting, too much inside of him, so much joy and tension at once. "Do you think it'll always do that?"

"Only one way to find out," he said, leaning in again.


End file.
